


Night & Day

by julads



Series: Warcraft [2]
Category: South Park
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - World of Warcraft Fusion, Gender or Sex Swap, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-04-05
Updated: 2016-04-05
Packaged: 2018-05-31 09:05:13
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,025
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6464239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/julads/pseuds/julads
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part I: Night: Stan and Kyle, soldiers of the Alliance, set out for Ashenvale in the hope of resolving Kyle's seven moon nightmare. Part II: Day: Alongside the armies of the world, Stan and Kyle battle the Qiraji, becoming C'Thun's personal victims in its scheme to deter the invasion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Night & Day

**Author's Note:**

> The first part of this story is set after the events of "Make Love Not Warcraft," though in the modified sense that Stan and Kyle are people who actually live in Azeroth. But like the episode, this story takes places during vanilla/classic _World of Warcraft_ : part one is during patch 1.5 ("Battlegrounds"), and the forthcoming part two is six months later, during patch 1.9 ("The Gates of Ahn'Qiraj"). If you played the game during vanilla (or at all), you'll probably pick up on the handful of cheesy in-game references.

They were upstairs in the Pig and Whistle Tavern in Stormwind's Old Town, huddled in the corner eating lunch. Kyle was drinking Hearthglen Ambrosia with his pork ribs, and maybe he'd order another glass of the strong alcoholic beverage before they left—who cared? Well, Stan did, judging by those glances from across the table. Oh, fuck off, Stan. You don't know what it's like to bleed out your crotch every month for a _whole goddamn week_.

"Hey—" Stan said right as Kyle was getting up.

" _What?_ " Kyle snapped.

At first, Stan looked like he'd been slapped. Then, his voice hard, he said, "You've got sauce on your mouth."

Scowling, Kyle wiped his mouth and muttered, "Thanks." Then he went downstairs for another Hearthglen Ambrosia.

He was pretty drunk as they headed over to the keep to speak to the Alliance Brigadier General for new assignments.

"'Lo, soldiers!" the dwarf greeted them. Stan and Kyle saluted the general, who then informed them of an important mission across the sea: "We're deploying forces to Ashenvale to aid the Silverwing Sentinels in their battle against the Warsong Outriders," he said, tilting his head towards the purple-haired Sentinel to his right. "We've got to drive those bloody orcs back to the Barrens and protect Alliance territory! You two up for the fight?"

Ashenvale! That was where this had all started—and ended. The disappointment in Blackfathom Deeps two months ago had cut, well, deep. But if Kyle were to start his investigation anew, Ashenvale would be the place to start. Plus, it was hard to argue with a fully funded military expedition. They could go kill some orcs, rank up a bit, make some gold, and then head over to some night elf towns and… question people, he supposed. What else could they do? They were back at square one.

They decided to go. Stan went back to the Command Center and Kyle headed over to his apartment in Mage Quarter to prepare for the trip. Later that afternoon, Stan came over to Kyle's apartment, and Kyle ported them to Ironforge, where they caught a short hippogryph flight to Menethil Harbor in the Wetlands. From there, they got on the boat that would take them to Auberdine, Darkshore, in Kalimdor, on the other side of the world. The trip usually took five days, sometimes six, and it was, by and large, the worst part of international travel. It was so fucking primitive, boat travel. Could they really not replicate—or hell, just fucking _steal_ —the Horde's zeppelin technology?

Although Kyle never got seasick to the point of vomiting, he always felt slightly unwell on boats, whether due to actual nausea, anxiety, or a combination of both. This, combined with the menstruation, was making him utterly miserable. It was a gorgeous day, too: clear blue skies, the Great Sea bland and calm, the boat running right on schedule. Misery. Kyle stood on the deck, digging his fingertips into the splintery banister and wishing a violent storm would erupt and drag them into the Maelstrom's chaotic depths. If only.

On a less dramatic note, it was strange to think that the Maelstrom, the result of the Well of Eternity's blowing up ten thousand years ago, designated the center of what had once been a single, solid land mass. Now the continents of Azeroth were all broken up, with Kalimdor to the west, the Eastern Kingdoms to the east, and Northrend to the north. Travel-wise, things would've been a hell of a lot easier if the world were still in one piece, "travel-wise" being the key qualifier here, because things, in general, were not easy.

Things were terrible and scary a lot of the time. Stormwind felt safe, and it was all too easy for Kyle to slip into that delusion while strolling through the Canals with Stan. It was strange to realize that when the Dark Portal was opened a little over two decades ago, Stormwind was torn to shreds by orcs, the king assassinated, and the survivors forced to flee to Lordaeron. But it was hardly inconceivable when Kyle remembered what happened to his home of Dalaran, the glorious magi city-state in the Alterac Mountains where he was born. Growing up, Dalaran had seemed impenetrable—he had been too young to remember the Horde's attacks on the city during the Second War. And besides, those didn't even compare to what happened five years ago when the traitor Prince of Lordaeron, Arthas Menethil, laid siege to the city with his army of undead Scourge, going so far as to have his ally, the wizard-turned-lich Kel'thuzad, summon the Burning Legion Lord, Archimonde, to squander the magocracy, toppling its towers and murdering its people.

In reality, there was no such thing as safety, only the illusion of it. This was a tough pill to swallow, a hard truth to always be conscious of, but one of them had to be practical. Stan, bless him, could sometimes be a little naïve, a little too idealistic. It was irritating sometimes, how much stock he put in the Alliance's ability to overcome virtually anything. And this was coming from someone whose family had been turned into Scourge and then murdered by Arthas. Stan's grain sensitivity became his survivor's guilt.

After being rescued with a few other survivors by Archmage Jaina Proudmoore, Stan was put in the Stormwind orphanage, where he lived for two years before joining the army at fifteen. The army instilled in him such purpose and radiance that people occasionally assumed he was a Knight of the Silver Hand—a paladin of the Holy Light, a rarity, these days. He might as well be, frankly. He was a gift; it was true. And while Kyle loved him dearly, loving Stan in this body was burdensome and uncomfortable. This ordeal had created a rift between them, one that paradoxically bound them tighter. Like thorny overgrowth, it intertwined them with grief and guilt, embittering them and making them bleed. That last bit wasn't metaphorical for Kyle though, and realizing that, his resentment bubbled up all over again.

He thought some bad thoughts, then went inside the galley and ordered a long overdue drink.

They arrived at the harbor in Auberdine five days later, most of which Kyle spent drunk. In the distance, off the coast, Kyle could see the night elves' new World Tree, Teldrassil, towering up massively from the sea. It occurred to him that it was actually pretty disgusting for the night elves to expect help defending their precious forests while being so weird about mages porting to Darnassus, Teldrassil's largest city and the night elves' racial capital. They were excessively strict about who could port there and when. Because forget zeppelins—he and Stan could've been here last week if Kyle had ported them. Instead, they got to spend the last five days stuck on a crummy boat, all because of crummy politics.

Either way, they were here now, in the town of Auberdine, in the drab and rainy region of Darkshore. Even the fancy purplewood night elven architecture here seemed grayer, wearier. They had a late breakfast of Strider Stew at the inn, which put them behind the other soldiers who had come with them from Menethil Harbor. Afterward, they took a hippogryph down to Astranaar in Ashenvale and began the trek on foot to the Silverwing Outpost to the southeast, where they would check in before heading to the gulch via Silverwing Grove.

For as beautiful as the forest was, with its ancient mystique and violet-sage lushness, it was disheartening being here again. Feeling additionally powerless amongst the colossal trees, Kyle struggled to look forward; he was caught up in reliving his memories of the penultimate time they were here, when this unfortunate transformation had occurred.

Looking back now, Kyle really regretted their decision to go to Darkshore to skin bears so Stan could craft the leather shoulders he had just learned to make in Darnassus. They could've done that anywhere, and they absolutely should've, because they soon realized that much of the wildlife in Darkshore was corrupted by the foul taint of neighboring Felwood, making the diseased bodies of these creatures ill-suited for use. They found themselves venturing farther and farther south in pursuit of non-corrupted wildlife. When night fell, they were miles from Auberdine, so they set up camp up on the cliff by the shore, just past the Explorer League's archeological excavation, and planned to head back the next morning. Open air camping was never ideal, and by then, Kyle was pissed: at Stan for his stupid leather shoulders that would look like shit with his plate armor anyway, and, secretly, at himself, for failing to keep track of time as they unwittingly traveled almost all the way to Ashenvale. But his mood improved throughout the evening: Stan caught some reef crawlers for dinner that were pretty good, and then they fucked out in the open, which was always fantastic.

Glumly now, Kyle remembered how his chest and knees had dug into the mossy ground while Stan fucked him from behind. He had been totally naked, while Stan was wearing all his armor except his gauntlets. His hot, heavy fingers had gripped Kyle's hips with saliva-inducing firmness. And Kyle was indeed drooling—he loved this game. It was a newer one called "Moving Day." Like all their sex games, the story behind it was highly detailed for the sake of realism: Kyle, the most powerful mage of all time and elemental lord Ragnaros' second in command, had been kidnapped by the black dragon Nefarian from Blackrock Mountain's molten core in an attempt to weaken Ragnaros' control over the volcano. Starving and weak, Kyle nevertheless managed to escape Nefarian's lair, yet before he could return to his master in the Molten Core, he was captured again by Alliance soldiers scouting the mountain for a future raid. There was a bounty on his head for 50,000 gold, apparently. So he was taken to Stormwind, where they very stupidly and actually rather offensively put him in the city's low-security Stockades along with such amateur menaces as Hogger.

Kyle was readying the most vindictive, destructive escape possible when somebody got smart and realized he needed to be put in the Vault on the opposite side of the Canals, where they kept the seriously dangerous criminals: the demons, the necromancers, the ogres. The difficulty was moving Kyle from the Stocks to the Vault without him getting away. For purposes such as these, the Stormwind Guards had a highly potent narco-serum, which would make the prisoner too drowsy to get very far. This serum had to be administered rectally.

The guard entered Kyle's cell and almost nonchalantly told him to disrobe. Then he shackled his wrists and ankles and positioned him on his knees on the cell's stone floor, his ass up in the air, exposed. Kyle was furious, and he demanded to know what was going on.

"It's moving day for you," the guard said gruffly, speaking for the first time. Then his plate gauntlets clanged to the floor, and he began fingering Kyle's ass with something slick, stretching him out for the thick injection. Throughout all of this, Kyle yelped and protested and even begged the guard to release him, all the while a massive, dripping erection bobbed between his legs.

Nevertheless, the guard proceeded to enter him, and in the way injections are best administered: fast, deliberate, and all at once.

Pleading and begging but also drooling and extremely horny, Kyle was horrified by how much he loved the feeling of the guard thrusting the injection in and out of his ass, readying the serum for delivery. He desperately wished the guard would reach around and jerk him off, and he was even more horrified—and even more aroused—knowing that the guard would never do so, that this was just an inconvenient task for him, an obligation.

Eventually, the injection was ready, and the guard dutifully unloaded a large quantity of the narco-serum into the prisoner's ass, right there on the damp earth of Darkshore. And after everything, Kyle was indeed tired, barely cognizant as Stan cleaned him up and redressed him.

He wondered where those robes were now.

* * *

Kyle handed their papers to the Sentinel at Silverwing Outpost.

"I suppose we have to take all help we can get," she said unhappily, looking down at Kyle with her glowing white eyes. She initialed their papers and told them to speak with Su'ura Swiftarrow in the grove to the southeast.

"Ridiculous," Kyle spat once they were far enough away from the outpost. "They still blame magic more than their stupid queen and her Highborne. That's like blaming cake for getting fat."

Stan laughed, loudly and genuinely. It made Kyle feel good, and not just because it was of course nice to have someone think you were funny, but because it was an example of how some things were still the same between them: he could still make Stan laugh, often without really trying. The battlefield was another example of this, where he and Stan were the same power team they always had been. Stan charged enemies head on, bashing them with his shield and rending them with his sword, while Kyle cast spells from behind, hurling Frostbolts and Pyroblasts and Arcane Missiles at them. Together, they were unstoppable, and this proved as true as ever during the battle in Warsong Gulch, where, after three days of fighting, they helped secure a tremendous win for the Silverwing Sentinels against the Warsong Outriders, resulting in the elimination of hundreds of orc invaders and the destruction of much of their logging equipment. Afterwards, the victors left the bloodied battleground and regrouped at the outpost, where they rested and counted their few casualties.

But for Stan and Kyle, their real mission was to begin tomorrow, at Maestra's Post, the camp closest to the Zoram Strand, where Kyle had woken up that morning seven months ago. He planned to ask the Sentinels there some questions. It was a starting point, one that incorporated the sort of open-mindedness with which he now knew he should've begun this investigation. His error had been to draw the premature conclusion that the Twilight's Hammer was responsible, based on two main factors: 1) the proximity of the old, underground temple that the cult had taken over and 2) the offhand suggestion of the woman who had found him. It made perfect sense at the time, and he had pursued the conviction to the bitter end of Blackfathom Deeps, where, after being permitted by their Knight-Champion to interrogate Twilight Lord Kelris, it became obvious that the Twilight's Hammer truly could _not_ conceptualize much beyond their slavish devotion to annihilation as dished up by the Old Gods.

On the way back up to the surface, some bitch Sentinel had said to Kyle, "You know, the Twilight's Hammer would've just killed you," which pissed him off, because she was right. The Twilight's Hammer had zero motivation to change his body then leave him unharmed on the beach. Besides, considering some other details, it really seemed like more of a prank, which, yes, was sick, but also made him loath to believe the warlocks of the Cult of the Dark Strand, a division of the Shadow Council, were involved. They, too, lacked any kind of motive. There didn't seem to be anything demonic about this, anyway. Even so, he wasn't going to repeat the mistake of marking off possibilities without thoroughly examining them. As things stood now, it could've been the Cult of the Dark Strand, or the naga, or hell, even some random asshole shaman coming up from Zoram'gar Outpost. It could've been anyone, and that's what made it so frustrating.

He and Stan left the Silverwing Outpost early that morning, before sunrise. The woods were damp with cold dew, and here on the forest floor, beneath the monstrous trees, it was still dark. The glowing baubles of the lampposts illuminated their way as they traveled west. The _clang_ _clang_ that Stan's armor made was the loudest sound. It was a sound that was always here, and Kyle took it for granted. Guilt was useless though, apologies even more so. Instead, he tried some friendly conversation: "What do you think you'd be like if you were thousands of years old?"

Stan took a few moments to answer. Then he said, "I probably would have seen a lot more suffering."

"Well, yeah," Kyle said, "but what would you be like as a person?"

"Oh, I don't know. I guess I'd know more stuff and be better at things," he said. "What about you?"

"I'd probably be the leader of the Kirin Tor."

"Oh, would you now?"

"Undoubtedly."

"Have you heard from your mother lately?" Stan asked, relevantly.

"Not in a while, no. She's engrossed, you know," Kyle said.

"I wonder when they'll be done with it."

"Not for years, probably. It was basically reduced to rubble," Kyle remarked, recalling his last memories of Dalaran. "Works for me though. I don't need her breathing down my neck."

"So I guess you still haven't told her anything about"—Stan hesitated, eying Kyle's body—"this."

"Of course not," Kyle said, really trying not to sound too snappy about it.

"I figured."

This was a concern though. Archmage Sheila was in the dark about a lot of things; she thought Kyle spent every day studying at the Academy of Arcane Arts and Sciences in Stormwind. This was for the best. Yes, it would probably come out eventually that he'd joined the army, but he'd deal with it then. What he definitely didn't need was her finding out about this body swap ordeal—she'd probably swoop down from Dalaran and try to take over, being characteristically loud and boisterous in demanding a cure for "her baby." Kyle cringed just thinking about it.

They made it to Astranaar around noon and stopped to have lunch before embarking on the last leg of the trip, which was just downhill. There, at Maestra's Post, they spoke to the Sentinel standing outside the main building.

"Hey, so, we just got back from killing a bunch of orcs in Warsong Gulch," Kyle casually began, "and we were wondering if you had a moment to answer a few of our questions?"

The Sentinel gazed down on them, her eyes as white and bright as the moon. It made them impossible to read. "You are soldiers of the Alliance?" she asked.

"Corporals, yep," Kyle answered.

"Then I thank you for your service in our forest," she said. "What questions do you have?"

"Do you recall any strange activity on the Zoram Strand around, say, seven months ago?"

She seemed confused, possibly. "Strange activity? The place is swarming with Horde and naga, as well as the Twilight's Hammer, until recently."

"Well, yes, we're aware of that," Kyle said, beginning to fear this wouldn't go anywhere, "but, see, something happened to me there, and my main lead ran dry, so I'm looking for any possible clues, anything noteworthy or unusual you remember happening around the strand seven months ago. Someone acting suspiciously, strange items popping up. Anything."

She squinted. "Hmm. Well, now that I think of it, I believe it was around then that those orbs were last seen."

"Orbs?"

"Every once in a while, one of my Sentinels will notice these strange colored orbs hovering out in the sea. The naga are presumably responsible, yet none of us have ever seen anything like them. They are so bizarre, just floating out there, sometimes changing colors," the Sentinel explained. "The problem is that they appear so far off the coast, deep in naga territory, making a Sentinel investigation all but impossible." She went on: "Shortly after they were last spotted, I finally sent a report to Astranaar suggesting the possibility of an investigation, but with all our troubles here in the forest, floating orbs are hardly a priority. But if this sounds relevant to your situation, you could speak with Shindrell Swiftfire in Astranaar—she may have more information."

Kyle looked at Stan, who made a 'maybe it's worth a shot?' kind of expression. "You said she's in Astranaar?" Kyle asked.

"Yes, you should be able to find her near the western entrance. Tell her Sentinel Onaeya sent you."

"Alright. Well, thanks for your help," Kyle said, and then Stan thanked her, too.

She nodded and said, "May Elune guide you, soldiers."

Before leaving Maestra's Post, Stan and Kyle also spoke with two human men who were rather curiously there, conversing near the tower. They learned they were Knights of the Silver Hand and had come to Kalimdor to help the night elves fight the demonic and undead presence in the forest. These two guys, Delgren "the Purifier" and Feero something or another, were slightly annoying but nevertheless very keen of the goings-on in the area, telling them how the Cult of the Dark Strand had taken over the Ruins of Ordil'Aran to the north and how they were investigating the cult's leader, a Highborne named Athrikus Narassian who worked out of the Tower of Athalaxx up in Darkshore.

"So, hypothetically-speaking," Kyle began, breaking his teeth on the damn bullet, "do you think the Cult of the Dark Strand would do something like, say, kidnap someone, transform them into something, and then just leave them there?"

"You mean transform them into a demon?" Delgren asked.

"No, I mean just changing certain physical qualities," Kyle said. "Like, uh, hair color, for instance."

Delgren raised an eyebrow at Kyle. "I wouldn't think so. These are warlocks we're talking about, not pranksters," he said, which was irritating to Kyle even though he was grateful for the confirmation. So he thanked the paladins out of necessity, and then he and Stan started back to Astranaar.

"They could be a good resource for later," Stan said as they walked up the hill. He was trying to be helpful. Kyle just said, "Yeah."

It was late in the afternoon when they made it to Astranaar. The sunlight melted over the town, making the water surrounding it sparkle like starshards. They found Shindrell Swiftfire easily and asked her about the glowing orbs.

"Ahh, the sea orbs," the green-haired Sentinel said. "I had heard rumors about them for years, so I was intrigued by Onaeya's report. I brought up the possibility of an investigation to Kayneth Stillwind in Forest Song, thinking a druid would be most able to swim that far out, but he has not mentioned it again in recent reports. I do not blame him, though—he is dealing with some very worrisome matters in Nightsong Woods."

"So he never actually investigated them," Kyle stated.

"I do not think so," Shindrell said, not seeming so chipper anymore. "You could go speak with him about it though."

"Okay," Kyle said, exhaling out his nostrils and rubbing his temple. "Okay," he repeated, this time more so to himself. Then he asked, "Where did you say he was again?"

"Forest Song, in Nightsong Woods to the east, past the Splintertree Post and north of the Warsong Lumber Camp," she explained, proceeding to advise them to be careful.

Kyle sighed. That was a hike. "Okay, thanks," he told the Sentinel, and Stan thanked her, too.

They got a room at the inn and planned to leave Astranaar for Forest Song the next morning. Kyle was beginning to fear this was turning into a wild goose chase, just like before with the Twilight's Hammer. He wondered if he should've been more honest with everyone he had spoken to—the fact that he had been turned into a female was probably relevant. No, it was extremely relevant, actually, and really stupid of him to withhold such information. But he just abhorred getting into it with people, as he'd had to do with every priest and paladin and alchemist he'd sought out to cure him of this seemingly permanent transformation. Many had been not-so-secretly amused, some had snickered, and a few had questioned why he even wanted to be changed back—he had some really nice tits, after all.

Kyle flung himself back on the bed and groaned, then stared down at his boobs. They were big and annoying. They also made running weird, and sometimes they got sweaty underneath, which was gross. That was possibly the case now, not that he was going to check and confirm. He would get a shower later. His hair was greasy, too. It was probably worth hacking it off at some point.

"Hey, I'm back," Stan said, opening up the door to their room with his ass. He was carrying a steaming bowl of shinsollo in one hand and a plate of fish in the other.

Noticing that Stan wasn't carrying any alcoholic beverages, Kyle immediately asked him, "They didn't have Hearthglen Ambrosia?"

"They don't have any booze here at all," he said in that stern 'don't you dare fight me over this' voice.

"You're joking."

"I wish," he said. "I asked everyone."

Kyle doubted Stan literally asked everyone in Astranaar, but he should've; he really should've. It was so extraordinarily disappointing, not being able to get drunk. Kyle hadn't had any alcohol since finishing off his flask last night, and all day today, he'd been looking forward to spending the night hammered. So, fine, maybe it wasn't Stan's fault, but it was still hugely upsetting, almost enough to bring Kyle to tears.

He was very hungry though. So, heaving a sigh, he got up and sat at the table with Stan. The shinsollo looked and smelled delicious, but it was steaming hot and would burn his mouth, so he waited. Stan's fish had a smell, and as Kyle watched him eat the grain-free meal, he felt increasingly awful, thinking about all the people in Stratholme—Stan's family, friends—unwittingly eating plague-infected bread and turning into zombies. And now, Kyle was Stan's family, and he was a jerk.

"I don't know why you put up with me," Kyle said.

Stan frowned and said, "I know why I do, but I don't know how. You haven't been very nice to me lately, not since Blackfathom Deeps, really."

That first part in particular was harrowing. It made Kyle kind of worried. "Well, I'm…sorry," he said.

"It still seems like you take this whole thing out on me," Stan added, "as if I intentionally slept through that night and let someone get away with doing this to you."

"I'm sorry," Kyle said, more sincerely this time, because Stan was right.

"Please don't just sit there telling me you're sorry," Stan said, looking miserable. "I'm not trying to guilt you here; I'm trying to tell you how it makes me feel. I mean, I've told you this before. It's fucking dispiriting that you can act like this when I'm trying so hard to help you."

"You're right. I'm an asshole," Kyle confessed.

"Fine, but stop being one to me. It's like you forget I'm on your side," Stan said. "If you need to work out some anger, do it on a target dummy, not me. Anybody but me. I can't handle it. You're all I have, and you basically hate me now."

"I don't hate you."

"Then don't act like it."

"I'll try."

"No, Kyle. Actually don't."

"Alright." A beat later, Kyle said, "I'm sorry" again. It felt cheap leaving his mouth, cheaper once he had said it.

"Okay," Stan said. "Thanks."

Kyle was up a long time that night worrying. He had to stop being such a jerk, or Stan would leave him. That was what it boiled down to. It shouldn't be hard for him to be nice to Stan—it never was before. He liked what they'd had these past two years, a linear progression from friends to best friends to lovers. They had always gotten along well, usually brilliantly, both on and off the battlefield. But now it was easier to lash out at Stan.

Stan had a point tonight about Kyle blaming him for this happening. Kyle had spent a lot of time wondering why _he_ was abducted, not Stan, and lately, this was leading him to resent Stan. That was likely the root of the problem: now that Kyle couldn't direct his anger towards the Twilight's Hammer, he directed it towards Stan, because Stan was always there and because he was so involved in all this, which made him an easy scapegoat. It definitely made Kyle feel better to chew Stan out for an hour if he thought Stan was looking at his boobs; it made him feel better to drunkenly bring up that one time months ago Stan had brought up the idea of them having sex with _that_ , as if Stan hadn't apologized for it dozens of times. (But seriously, why _that_ and not his ass?! He still had an ass, for fel's sake!) It felt vindictive, like he was winning, which seemed so crucial, especially when he got the impression that Stan might be okay with his sorry female state, might even like it, might prefer normality to obscurity. It was uncommon, two boys being together; many people thought it was strange.

Now, awake and stricken with guilt like indigestion, it occurred to Kyle that he never once thought about Stan's feelings during any of those times, always deeming him at worst culpable of some random heterosexual offense, or at best wholly undeserving of any compassion for not having been the original victim. Now, with the harshness of full sobriety, all those times meshed together into a clear pattern of self-absorbed callousness, of malicious victimhood. Citing what had happened to him as the sole cause of their fractured relationship was how he absolved himself of any wrongdoing and excused his awful behavior.

He really was an asshole, an unredeemable asshole. Netherspawn, practically. Stan didn't deserve this shit. Kyle had to knock it off even if it killed him, because if Stan were to leave him, it might _actually_ kill him.

They left Astranaar at dawn—it was a long trek to Forest Song. Kyle felt like shit, and to make matters worse, he had the nagging feeling they weren't making real progress. They could hike all the way over there, and this druid could tell them, "Sorry, can't help you." And then what? That would be even worse than coming out of Blackfathom Deeps empty-handed: the Twilight's Hammer was at least undeniably antagonistic, whereas these folklorish glowing orbs could be nothing more than the visual disturbances of sleep-deprived Sentinels.

Maybe he had been asking the wrong questions. Maybe he should have been more upfront. Maybe he was screwed.

They stopped for lunch at Raynewood Retreat and then walked the rest of the afternoon until they reach Forest Song in Nightsong Woods. Bordered to the west by satyr settlements, this grove of old ruins was not a pleasant place: the ground was reddish with the taint of corruption, and the air smelled slightly fungal. There was what looked like an alchemist's work station set up upon a large slab of white stone, but no one was there. Worryingly, there weren't any men in sight, either, only a dryad and a single Sentinel, who was in fact approaching them.

"Greetings, travelers," she said flavorlessly. "What brings you to Forest Song?"

"We're looking for Kayneth Stillwind. They told us in Astranaar he would be here," Kyle said.

"They have not received his latest report?" the Sentinel asked, frowning.

"What? What do you mean?"

"Before he left the other day, he penned a report detailing his plans, and I had a scout deliver it to Astranaar. It concerns me greatly if they have not received the report," she said, frowning severely. "Tell me, who did you speak with in Astranaar?"

"Shindrell Swift-something," Stan said after a beat. Kyle had completely forgotten.

The Sentinel closed her eyes. "Perhaps it is too soon for alarm," she said, possibly more to herself. "Either way, Kayneth is not here and will likely not return for a few days, at least two."

Well, wasn't that just great. "Two days, huh?" Kyle said bitterly.

"At least."

"Welp," Kyle began, "great." He was tempted to walk over to a nearby ruin and bang his head into it.

The Sentinel just stared down at him. Oh, fuck off, lady. "Where did he _go_ , anyway?" he asked her.

"To discuss a matter with another druid," the Sentinel said cagily, squinting at them. Then she asked them, "What business do you have with him? And what are your affiliations? Classes?" The last question was directed specifically at Kyle.

"Uhh, I'm obviously a priest," Kyle said, waving his staff in her face.

"And I'm a warrior," Stan said, which was also obvious.

Then Kyle said, "We're Alliance soldiers, and, funnily enough, we _just_ got back from killing tons of orcs in the gulch, isn't that right Stan?"

"Yep," Stan said, on cue.

Outrageously, the Sentinel didn't respond with gratitude: "And what does that have to do with your wanting to see Kayneth?"

Kyle was getting mad now. "We have to talk to him about a thing, okay. A _private_ thing," he retorted.

She raised a long blue eyebrow, like she didn't believe him. "You will have to wait until he comes back then."

"Fine," Kyle said.

He couldn't believe they had to hang around this shithole with this bitch Sentinel until that stupid druid came back. That fucker was probably in Moonglade, doing whatever it is druids do there. Probably having sex with each other as animals, those disgusting fucks.

And of course there wasn't an inn here, just a row of cots set up behind a cloth partition under some ruins. Ordinarily, this would've been satisfactory, but right now, it was hell. Kyle wanted to be home, in his nice bed in his nice room in his nice apartment in Stormwind. The embittering thing was that he could make a portal and actually be there in about two minutes, but then he'd have to come all the way back here, and that would take days. It wasn't even worth going back to Astranaar to stay at the inn; that would take forever, too.

Stan blew out the candle and said goodnight. Kyle lay on his back on the cot and stared into the blackness, thinking about how things used to be. It was painful in the same way it was painful to think about his father. He fell asleep thinking sadly about the times he had been happy.

* * *

It was three long, boring days until a weary-looking cheetah trotted into the grove. It approached Sentinel Melyria Frostshadow and transformed into a weary-looking night elf man. The two elves began speaking in Darnassian.

That had to be Kayneth. Kyle got up to go talk to him, but Stan said told him to wait a minute, which was irritating. "They're talking about something serious," Stan said, and maybe that was true, but so what? Regardless, Kyle sat back down and continued picking at his sagefish while keeping an eye on the two elves. They glanced over at them once or twice, then went on talking for at least fifteen more minutes. Finally, the man came over to speak to Stan and Kyle.

"Greetings, soldiers. I am Kayneth Stillwind. Sentinel Frostshadow said you came to Forest Song to speak with me. I was sorry to learn you have been waiting three days for my return," the druid said sincerely. He looked exhausted, with bags under his glowing yellow eyes. Kyle felt bad for him.

"Oh, uh, yeah, but it's okay," Kyle said, even though it hadn't been okay; it had been shitty.

"The Barrens are treacherous lands, and bad news is a heavy load to carry." Kayneth heaved out a long breath, then said, "But that is neither here nor there. Tell me, soldiers, what is it you wished to speak with me about?"

"We wanted to ask you about the glowing orbs off the coast of the Zoram Strand," Kyle said, getting right to the point. "Shindrell Swiftfire in Astranaar said she spoke to you about investigating them, but that the idea got put on the back-burner. So we wanted to ask you if you had any more information, or if you ever planned to embark upon the investigation."

"I must say, I am surprised this is about those orbs," the druid said, grabbing a stool to sit down with them around the fire. "I did speak with Sentinel Swiftfire about investigating them, yet I sense she has the faulty impression that because I can shapeshift into a sea lion, it would be safe for me to swim out into naga waters, on my own, at night." Frowning, Kayneth said, "But even if it were safe, I have far more pressing matters to address here—matters of life and death. I simply do not have the time to investigate strange apparitions out in the sea."

Kyle was speechless. They waited three days to hear this?!

"That's understandable," Stan said. "Do you have any idea what the orbs might be though?"

The druid paused for a moment before saying, "Before I answer that, let me state the one thing I am most certain about: I do not believe the naga are responsible. I recall from Shindrell's first report that the earliest known date the orbs were spotted was a century ago, whereas the naga only infiltrated the strand a few years ago. And while there may very well have been some naga living there earlier, they kept such a low profile that the Sentinels were not aware of their presence, which leads me to doubt they would have drawn attention to themselves so conspicuously. The naga are no less cunning and intelligent than the Highborne they once were." He chuckled dryly at that last part. "But, indeed, what _are_ those orbs? To be frank, I do not know. I would like to think they are simply reflections of moon or some other natural phenomena, but I trust the Sentinels' judgment too much," Kayneth said. Then he asked, "What is it about them that interests you, anyway?"

"Something happened to me on the strand seven months ago," Kyle said tiredly, "and Shindrell Swiftfire said the orbs were seen around that time."

Kayneth's brow furrowed. "May I ask what it is that happened?"

Kyle closed his eyes and exhaled. "I was abducted from my campsite in Darkshore and woke up on the strand. I was, uh, transformed. Into a woman." He pursed his lips and stared at the druid.

"That is a strange and unfortunate tale," Kayneth said, putting his chin in his hand. "No healer has been able to cure you?"

"No," Kyle said. "They always say they can't detect anything on me."

"Hmm," the night elf murmured as he stroked his azure beard. "While such permanent changes are possible, they are unusual, for they require very powerful, often corrupt magic."

The word "permanent" rang through Kyle's head like a funeral toll. Glumly, he explained, "At first we thought the Twilight's Hammer had something to do with it. We were actually part of the company that went into Blackfathom Deeps to deal with the cultists, but it turns out they weren't responsible."

Kayneth nodded. "Based on what I know of the Twilight's Hammer, I have to agree with you: they would not invest the energy in developing a spell to permanently change one's gender—they care for little besides chaos and destruction," the druid said.

Yeah, yeah, they knew that. "So do you think the orbs are relevant or not?" Kyle asked the druid impatiently. "Is it even worth focusing on them?"

Kayneth took a moment to answer, which caused Kyle some stress. "Though it may have only been a coincidence, I cannot help but feel it is noteworthy that the orbs were last seen around the time this happened to you," he said. "So, my personal opinion is that yes, they may very well be."

Then Stan asked, "Do you think there's a way we could go about investigating them ourselves?"

"Oh, indeed, and I mentioned as much to Sentinel Swiftfire, but it's such a bothersome alternative that it's no wonder she insisted upon my swimming out there," Kayneth said, laughing a bit. Then he advised them, "What you could do is take a rowboat from Auberdine and sail down the coast to the strand. Perhaps you will see something."

It was as good a plan as any, because it at least existed, as aggravating and unfruitful as it would probably be. On the way to Astranaar the next morning, Kyle wasn't feeling very optimistic.

Out of nowhere, Stan said, "I've been thinking about the idea of joining the Argent Dawn."

Well, that was definitely an _idea_. "You'd have to go to the Plaguelands," Kyle stated, knowing that Stan had never returned to the former Kingdom of Lordaeron.

"I know," Stan said, "and it might be really hard for me at first, but sometimes I feel like I'm living in this state of willful ignorance, thinking things are hunky dory up there when I know they're not."

Kyle thought about this. "Sometimes I catch myself thinking the same thing about Dalaran," he said.

"Like you forget what happened to it?"

"Yeah. Which is stupid, because then it's like, where's my mom? And why's my dad dead?"

"Yeah. It's like Stormwind coddles us."

"It really does," Kyle agreed. "But that doesn't mean you have to throw yourself into the antithesis of that. You aren't morally obligated to make it your life mission to fight the Scourge just because you survived Stratholme."

"Yeah, I know," Stan said, "and I don't really want to quit the army, but… I don't know. Sometimes I wonder what the big picture is. I find myself wondering why I'm doing what I'm doing and if it boils down to something meaningful for the world, rather than just, you know, a way to feed myself."

"But we _are_ doing meaningful things in the army. To cite one of many recent examples here, we helped get rid of that crazy guy terrorizing people in Elwynn Forest and Arathi Highlands," Kyle highlighted. "The problem is all the things we've done are so disparate that they don't consolidate neatly into a singular goal-oriented narrative. But just because the Argent Dawn is exclusively focused on the Scourge and the plague doesn't make it a more noble cause."

"That's actually a very good point."

"Thanks," Kyle said. "I guess I'll also say that even if you joined the Argent Dawn, you might not feel like you were doing very meaningful work. The Scourge is such a massive problem that fighting it could begin to seem hopeless. At least in the army, we get to see real, tangible victories and feel like we're making progress." That was the opposite of the current situation, but Kyle didn't say so; right now, he just wanted to get the idea of joining the Argent Dawn out of Stan's head.

"Well, I guess that's true, too," Stan said.

On the coattails of this discussion, it occurred to Kyle that it was sort of ironic that a former member of the Scourge had been the one to help him when he woke up naked on the Zoram Strand. Of the humans who had been turned into zombified Scourge, some went on to regain their sense of free will and pledged their allegiance to the Banshee Queen Sylvanas Windrunner, the undead high elven ranger who controlled Tirisfal Glades from the sewers beneath the ransacked City of Lordaeron. They called themselves Forsaken and were allied with the Horde. Misene was one of them.

In the midst of Kyle's initial freak-out over his body and confusion over how he ended up naked in a giant seashell on the beach, he was only further petrified to see a Forsaken woman in aquamarine robes approaching him. Her nose and mouth were covered by a white scarf.

"Are you alright?" she asked in a raspy, scraggly voice.

"Don't hurt me!" Kyle yelled, but the voice that came out wasn't his. He scrambled away from the Forsaken, tripping over the seashell and falling down on the sand.

She dropped her staff on the ground and then said, "I'm not going to. Do you need help?" Her Common was perfect and unaccented, that of a native speaker.

"I don't know!" Kyle cried. "I don't know what happened to me!" He looked down at his body and starting sobbing again.

"How about I at least give you something to put on," the dead woman said, tentatively reaching into her bag with her skeletal hand. She pulled out a green robe and, without coming any closer, tossed it over to Kyle, who took it and eventually managed to get it on.

He clutched the fabric over his thighs and blubbered, "S-somebody c-changed my body."

She stared at him with her creepy glowing eyes. "Eh? How?"

But Kyle couldn't put his horror into words. "Where am I?" he asked, still hyperventilating a bit. "Where's Stan?"

"You're on the Zoram Strand in northwestern Ashenvale," she said. "Is Stan your friend?"

"He's my b-boyfriend," Kyle said, still shuddering but beginning to calm down a bit. "We were c-camping in Darkshore, by that dig site."

"Well, why don't I help you find him," she suggested. "Okay?"

"Okay," Kyle mumbled. While it was probably very stupid of him, he trusted this woman. He felt that she just wanted to help him, even though she was an evil Forsaken. But then, she didn't seem very evil, and she had been human once, too, hadn't she?

Getting up off the sand, he was extremely conscious of how different it was just moving around in this body. He couldn't feel anything between his legs, which was really scary. He also had these big, heavy things attached to his chest, which were hugely distracting and uncomfortable. When did this happen? Who did it? Why? Did they do it to Stan, too? Where _was_ Stan?

As they walked off the strand, the Forsaken woman said, "My name is Misene. What's yours?"

"Kyle."

"Funny name for a girl," she commented.

"I'm _not_ a girl—somebody just changed my body into a girl's," he finally articulated. "I'm a boy. I'm the son of Archmage Sheila of the Kirin Tor."

"Oh. No wonder you're so upset then," she said.

Moaning, Kyle said, "Who would do such a thing?"

"Dunno. Could've been cultists," Misene suggested.

Kyle began tearing up again. "This is a nightmare!"

"Here, wait," Misene said, stopping and raising her staff. "If you're under the effect of some kind of magic, I should be able to take it off you. What do you say?"

"Go for it," Kyle said, desperate enough to have a Forsaken woman cast a spell on him.

Misene took her staff and tried to Dispel Magic off Kyle, which caused a little white sparkle to swirl down around him, but nothing else. She cast it again and the same thing happened. "Hmm. Guess it didn't work," she said.

"Why not?" Kyle demanded, pleading.

"Maybe it's a curse," she said.

Taking a deep breath, he said, "Okay. Then I'll see if I can take it off myself when I can get ahold of my staff—assuming they didn't take that, too."

It didn't take them long to make it to the campsite, where, somewhat infuriatingly, Stan was still sleeping. Kyle woke him up.

"Who are you?" Stan asked, backing away from him. Frantic, he looked around, and upon seeing Misene, he lunged for his sword and shield. "Where's Kyle? What have you done with him?" he shouted at them.

"Stan, stop it! It's me, Kyle!" Quickly, he tried to explain: "Somebody transformed me into this body!"

Stan was still on guard; Kyle could see the fear in his eyes.

"I was here with you last night eating crawler meat, and we played that ridiculous game," Kyle said, scrambling for anything that would convince Stan. "Your birthday is October 19, you used to have a dog named Sparky, and you have a scar on your leg from where your sister stabbed you with a pencil as a kid."

Then Stan looked even more terrified. "Kyle? Is that you?"

"Yes! It's me! That's what I've been trying to tell you!"

"What—what happened to you?" Stan asked, utterly horrified at this point.

"Somebody put on a spell on me," he said. "Didn't you hear anything last night?"

Stan shook his head no and then shot another wary glance over at Misene.

"Relax. She was helping me," Kyle told him, not very convincingly. Then, noticing his staff on the ground, he exclaimed, "Oh!" and went to grab it. He cast the spell to remove curses on himself then waited. Nothing happened. He tried again, and nothing happened again. Destroyed, he crumpled up in a pile on the ground and began moaning. "What did I do to deserve this?" he cried. "What did I do to _deserve_ this!?"

The events of that morning were burned into Kyle's mind, branded by the trauma of it all. He could still feel the original horror, the initial anguish of the first day of this nightmare. Yet he wondered what would've happened to him if not for Misene, how much worse it could've been. While he liked to think he would've made it back to Stan fine on his own, in such a vulnerable state, something could've easily happened to him before he was able to get a grip on himself. Another thing was that he hadn't had the opportunity to thank Misene—she left the campsite at some point when he wasn't paying attention. He would probably never see her again.

* * *

They ate lunch when they arrived in Astranaar and then took the flight path to Auberdine. From up above, Kyle surveyed the Zoram Strand, noticing a decent-sized island close to the shore swarming with naga and then two other smaller, empty islands farther off the coast. The amount of naga on the strand made him apprehensive. Plus, it was impossible to know how many naga were underwater and how far into the sea their reach extended. Kyle reasoned that he and Stan could fight off up to four naga, but without a healer, they would be overrun by any more of the serpentine creatures. So once they got to Auberdine, they took the quick trip from there to Darnassus, where they purchased health and mana potions and elixirs at the Auction House. Bandages were not an issue; Kyle always made sure they had enough of those and were up to date with the latest in first aid technology.

It was late afternoon when they made it back to Auberdine. Kayneth Stillwind had actually given them a note requesting that the Sentinels there lend them a boat for free, so they took it over to the Sentinel stationed outside one of the buildings. After hearing their brief explanation and reading the paw print endorsed note, she told them, "We generally do not lend our boats to people."

"Well, we need one. We're on an important mission for Kayneth," Kyle lied.

"Wait here a moment," she said to them. Then she went inside the building and spoke with a male night elf. They talked for about a minute before the Sentinel came back out and told them they could borrow the boat, but they had to leave something of value behind as collateral. It could be sentimental or monetary. While perhaps understandable, this was nonetheless highly annoying. Feeling very uneasy about it, Kyle took from his backpack his good luck charm, a golden pin of the Kirin Tor emblem. His parents had given it to him for his thirteenth birthday, the last birthday he celebrated in Dalaran. The Sentinel made a face when he handed it over to her, which made him so mad he wanted to scream at her. Instead, he grouchily said, "What? It's the most valuable thing I own."

It was deemed sufficient.

The boat they were lent was an attractive rowboat with a lantern hanging from the bow. Stylistically, it was reminiscent of night elven architecture: curvy, woodsy, and kind of mystical. They rowed out to the sea maybe a half mile, then began heading south. It was late in the evening now, and the sun hung low and heavy in the pink sky, searing the edges of blue-lavender clouds. Teldrassil loomed behind them as they travelled parallel to the shore, passing beached sea creatures and colonies of murlocs. By the time they crossed over into Ashenvale, the sun had set, and the land and sea were engulfed in an agitated twilight. Naga were visible on the strand moving among the ruins. Farther south, the torches of Zoram'gar Outpost burned like the tiny Fireballs of novice mages.

Kyle blew out the lantern so as not to draw attention to themselves, then they rowed to one of the small islands he had seen earlier. They pushed the boat up onto the tiny land mass and got out and sat on the sand. Then they waited.

The hours ticked by. The moon shone down on them, full and bright. They stared across the water, exchanging dull bits of conversation here and there. Kyle's pessimism compounded. Wasn't it really kind of stupid, all this crap about glowing orbs? And what made them think they'd even see them tonight? And even if they did, so what? So what if they saw some weird glowing orbs? What would they do, change him back? Yeah, that seemed real likely.

They'd foolishly gone down this route, and they would follow it down to another bitter, barren end. Kyle would come out of it worse than he'd come out of the Blackfathom Deeps, because this lead had been far stupider, yet he'd pursued it with comparable effort. His conviction as to its likelihood was irrelevant—the time and energy were wasted either way.

As he breathed in the still sea air, Kyle was dying on the inside. "I hate every waking moment of my life," he said.

Stan sighed.

"You have no idea what it's like for me," Kyle said.

"You're right. I don't," Stan ceded, sounding tired.

"Well, let me tell you, it's hell, it's absolute fucking hell, and I'm getting to the point where I just want someone to put me out of my misery."

Stan looked more hurt than alarmed. "Would you really rather die than live in that body?"

"Yeah, I would," Kyle said firmly. The distraught look on Stan's face incensed him. "What, you'd rather me suffer endlessly? Do you know how selfish that is?"

"Me not wanting you to die is _selfish?_ " Stan said, raising his voice.

"It's _completely_ selfish!" Kyle spat back, far superseding Stan's volume level. "It's selfish for you expect me to suffer like this forever just so you're not sad!"

"If me not wanting you to die makes me selfish, then yeah, I guess I am!" Stan shouted. Then he added, "At least I'm in good company!"

"How am I selfish for not wanting to suffer?!"

"You're making yourself suffer! You create your own misery, Kyle!"

"What the fuck? What the fuck!?" Kyle shrieked. "How dare you say that to me! How dare you!"

Satisfyingly, Stan didn't have a response; he just glared at Kyle, his blue eyes hard. "Let me guess," Kyle said meanly, "you wish I would get over myself and make peace with this disgusting body so you can put babies in me and have a normal life, right?"

Stan gasped at that. And then, he was gone. Where he had been standing was now a three-by-three foot black square—a trapdoor. Horrified, Kyle peered down into it, but all he saw was blackness. "Stan!" he cried out. "Stan!"

From far below, he heard a low, barely audible groan. "Stan! I'm coming!" Kyle shouted into the trapdoor. Frantically, he snatched a Light Feather from his backpack, then cast Slow Fall on himself and stepped into the trapdoor. As he slowly drifted down, he was terrified that he would reach the bottom only to find himself on top of Stan's mangled body. Then he heard Stan call out his name.

"I'm here!" Kyle said, his feet just then touching ground. He anxiously felt around for Stan, quickly finding him. "Are you hurt?" he asked, feeling Stan all over for injuries, not that he'd be able to tell over the plate.

"No, I'm fine—something broke my fall," Stan said. "Actually, I think I might be…levitating?"

"That you are," a female voice said. Then, blue flames ignited along the walls, illuminating the passageway. Two night elf women came into view before them. The one at the forefront was taller, with long azure hair, her light yellow eyes blaring with contempt. The other elf, who had long aquamarine hair, stood to her side, peering at Stan and Kyle. Both were wearing shimmering blue-black robes with silver circle pendants hanging from their necks.

"Who are you?" Kyle demanded, belatedly jumping to his feet, staff in hand.

"What a question!" the blue-haired elf said. "Do you often make noise on people's property only to interrogate them upon being discovered?" She had a thick elven accent, making it difficult to understand her.

Then the aquamarine-haired elf tapped the blue-haired elf on her shoulder and began speaking to her in Darnassian, her yellow-tinted eyes intermittently darting over at Stan and Kyle. The blue-haired night elf raised her brows, then kneeled down to scrutinize Stan and Kyle. Her lips curled into a calculated grin. Kyle backed away from the creepy elf woman. She then said a few words in Darnassian and pressed a stone on the wall, which caused the trapdoor above them to shutter closed with a violent metal sound.

Kyle began casting Frost Nova, which would glue the elves' feet to the ground with ice and allow them to flee, but was interrupted by the sounds of terrible screams in his head, causing him to run mindlessly into the wall. This infamous priest spell, known as Psychic Scream, made its victims feel that their brain was being torn to shreds for the few long seconds that it lasted.

"Trust me, you do not want to fight us," the blue-haired night elf warned him. Kyle faltered. She did seem very powerful.

He lowered his staff. "Fine," he said, "then let us go."

"Not yet," she said.

Kyle was starting to get scared now. "Then when?"

"Hand your weapons to Bebeiyla," she told them, ignoring Kyle's question.

"No!" Kyle contested.

"Do you wish to be escorted in thorns?" the night elf said with distaste.

Kyle exchanged a glance with Stan. He knew it would be very, very stupid to let go of his staff in such a perilous situation. He also knew that if he were immobilized by druidic thorns, he would have a chance of getting away using the trinket all humans are given at birth that allows them to free themselves from movement-impairing effects. For some reason, this trinket was colloquially referred to as "Every Man for Himself," even though it worked just as well on women, if not better, due to their generally smaller size.

"Yes, we do," Kyle said boldly. "Thorn us."

Smiling with intrigue, the blue-haired elf spoke in Darnassian to the other elf. Then, in Common, she said to them, "As you wish, humans."

Both elves cast thorns on Stan and Kyle, producing prickly branches that wrapped around their torsos impossibly fast, binding their arms to their sides. The thorns themselves weren't very big, but they were very sharp, and there were a lot them. Through Kyle's robe, they dug painfully into his skin, staining the green fabric with dots of red. This is what made thorns so effective: struggling to free yourself was excruciatingly painful, the thorns being imbedded in your skin.

But, importantly, Kyle still had his staff, and Stan still had his sword and shield.

The blue-haired elf then told them, "Now, come with me."

The aquamarine-haired elf walked behind them as they headed down the corridor, the blue flames extinguishing behind her with a swift _fhhhwp_ as they progressed. They went down a flight of stairs that were broken in places, which brought them to a four-way intersection with a large crescent moon in the center. The ceilings were lower here. Before the blue-haired elf made a right, Kyle noticed that the passage straight ahead was caved in. He wondered if these halls connected to Blackfathom Deeps.

"I suppose proper introductions are in order," the blue-haired night elf said. "I am Wendyssa Moonshadow, Archdruidess of Elune and Headmistress and Foundress of the School of Elunite Druidism. The woman following you is my dear cohort Bebeiyla Nightshade, druidess, co-founder of the school, and my second in command. She has not burdened herself with learning your stupid language." Wendyssa laughed.

"We're soldiers of the Alliance," Kyle said, forgoing providing their names, "so people will come looking for us if you don't let us go."

Wendyssa shot him a glance over her shoulder. "How is it that you keep forgetting I said I will let you go?" she said, sounding exasperated. "You will be granted departure by dawn. I have neither the space nor the tolerance for humans in my domain, least of all male ones."

It sounded believable, but Kyle didn't trust her.

They made many more turns down crumbling corridors. Kyle tried to remember the order: right, right, left, right, left. Gods, he hoped that was right. If he'd had a free hand, he would've discretely sprinkled some Vision Dust on the ground to mark their path, as financially painful as that would've been.

Eventually, they reached a new-looking double door, which Wendyssa opened with a key. Beyond the door was a massive chamber, completely illuminated by floating paper lanterns and glass baubles with blue and lavender flames. The cavern was convex yet extremely high, with four tall waterfalls pouring down sleekly from thin horizontal openings. The waterfalls created streams of sparkling water that meandered into a single pool in the center of the room, upon which a large fountain of a naked female night elf stood. The statue, which was expertly cut and seemed to be made of lavender marble, was holding her breasts up as streams of water poured from her nipples. On the sandy ground, there were white stone benches, a mausoleum, and a dozen or more female night elves wearing the same blue-black robes as Wendyssa and Bebeiyla. All of them stopped and looked up as the four of them began descending the floating stairwell. Wendyssa said something stern to the curious crowd in Darnassian, and the elves immediately looked away, going back to their books or spellcasting or personal discussions. Yet as they walked through the dream-like cavern, Kyle could feel yellow-tinted eyes flickering towards him, staring at him. There were too many of them. They would never be able to escape this way.

On the far end of the cavernous hall, Wendyssa stopped by the mausoleum, where four elves were gathered. She spoke with the elf at the podium, who subsequently said a few words to the elves at the mausoleum before leaving with Wendyssa. This elf was rather meek, and as they continued onward, she listened to Wendyssa intently, only offering a few short, soft-spoken words in response. Her white hair was in looped braids, her purple face markings resembled a butterfly, and her eyes were exceptionally yellow, nearly amber.

They left the cavern down yet another corridor and soon arrived at a hallway of doors, some of which were closed off with wooden planks. Wendyssa opened the first door on the left. Inside were a large wooden desk, a hanging lantern, some chairs, and an empty bookshelf.

"Bebeiyla," Wendyssa began, proceeding to speak to her in Darnassian. It was extremely nerve-wracking not knowing what they were saying.

Then, Stan and Kyle were shoved into the room. Bebeiyla and the white-haired elf followed. "Sit down and behave," Wendyssa told Stan and Kyle in Common. "I will be back." She shut the door.

Bebeiyla sat at the desk, and Stan and Kyle sat down on the two wooden stools in front of it. The other elf stood at the door. Bebeiyla began speaking to her in Darnassian.

"I don't think these two know Common," Kyle murmured to Stan, earning him a suspicious glance from Bebeiyla.

Stan looked over his shoulder at the elf behind them. "I think you're right," he said. "So what are we gonna do here? We can't pull an every man and escape. There are too many of them in that room."

"Yeah, I was just thinking that," Kyle said. "There may be another exit, but scrambling through these passages looking for one doesn't seem like the best idea. Our best option is probably a portal, but that's not going to happen so long as they're watching us like this."

"Hmm. Do you think we could fight these two off?" Stan asked.

Kyle looked at Bebeiyla. She was glaring at them like she wanted to rip their faces off. "Even if we could, I don't think force is the best way to proceed here—they have numbers on their side, and the other one could come back anyone minute."

A few moments later, Kyle commented, "There's something very unusual about this place."

"You can say that again."

"That fountain was…interesting," Kyle said, "not to mention the comment about males."

"What are you thinking?" Stan asked Kyle.

"I'm thinking that a gender transformation spell might be perfectly in line with the ideology here."

"That would make sense," Stan said. Then he asked Kyle, "Did you see those baubles in the other room? The first thing I thought was that they might be our orbs."

This was a brilliant connection, and Kyle told him so. "Maybe they were using them as lanterns up on the surface," Kyle theorized.

The pieces were coming together, all signs pointing to this weird female druid school. But how could he confirm this? And if it really was them, why did they do it? Would he be able to persuade them to change him back? Was that even possible?

In light of these questions, more arose: was an escape attempt a good idea when the possibility of returning to his true form was in reach? Had he really come so far only to port himself back to Stormwind? The situation was dire, sure, but could whatever these elves had in stock for them be worse than continuing to live in this body _and_ the regret of discarding a nearly-solved puzzle? Well, possibly. Kyle knew things could always, always get worse.

After a while, Stan asked, "Did you really mean all that stuff? About babies, I mean."

In their present situation, it seemed absurd that Stan would bring that up. Yes, Kyle had said it, and yes, he had meant it, in the sense that he was terrified it was true. "No, of course not," he told him.

Stan just said, "Oh."

"I just said it to make you mad," Kyle lied, and then flippantly said, "Sorry." And he was sorry about it, in that he didn't like sharing his most profound fears, not even with Stan, not really.

It had to have been at least an hour before Wendyssa came back. Kyle turned around on the stool and saw her standing there, her hands covered in blood, her fingers moving in a careful, rhythmic motion. Then, just when Kyle realized she was casting a spell, a blast of blueish-white light shot out of from her palms and hit Stan.

Kyle felt like his heart stopped as he watched sparkling purple clouds engulf Stan. The clouds quickly dissipated, leaving Stan…somewhat smaller? Then Kyle looked at his face and saw it was totally clean-shaven and that the severity of his jaw and brow was also substantially softened, almost…feminine!

"Holy shit!" Kyle yelped. "Stan!"

Stan looked confused and panicked. He had dropped his sword.

"It was _you!_ " Kyle bellowed, facing Wendyssa. " _You_ did this to me!"

"Indeed," the druidess admitted, "and now I have finished the job. Consider your debts to Elune paid and your lives significantly improved."

"What fucking debts?!" Kyle shouted. "We didn't do anything, you bitch!"

Narrowing her yellowish eyes, Wendyssa stated, "You publicly and shamelessly engaged in male intercourse under the light of Elune, thus further tainting her already wounded forests."

It was horrifying hearing this spoken aloud. "That's not a crime!" Kyle shouted, his face hot with anger and humiliation. "Not everyone follows your stupid moon religion, and you can't punish them if they don't!"

The druid scoffed. "Oh, please. It is hardly a punishment."

"Yes it is a punishment!" Kyle shrieked. Stan's horrified moans were further testimony. "I'm not supposed to be a girl! I'm a boy! On the inside, I'm a boy!"

Surprisingly, Wendyssa looked seriously concerned. She exchanged a glance with the white-haired druid. "You mean… you haven't been receiving Elune's monthly blessing?" she asked Kyle, sounding anxious.

"What?"

Huffing, Wendyssa raised her bloody hands, and, waving them in Kyle's face, she exclaimed, "Moon blood! Monthly moon blood!"

"Oh, fel!" Kyle wailed, disgusted that that was what was on her hands. "Yeah, I _have_ had to deal with that shit, thanks to you!"

"Thanks to me indeed," Wendyssa said primly. Then she stated, "So you _are_ a woman, both inside and out. And here you had me thinking my spell didn't work on humans, you little Netherspawn."

"That wasn't what I meant," Kyle spat, muttering this.

"Oh? Pray tell, what else could 'being a boy on the inside' possibly mean?" Wendyssa asked, looking at Kyle like he was an idiot.

"Forget it! Just forget it!" Kyle shouted, holding back tears. Then he glanced over at Stan and got even more upset.

"Such ingratitude!" Wendyssa said with disgust. "You should take a lesson from Mante'keya here," she told Kyle, gesturing to the white-haired druid. "I transformed her over ninety years ago, and she has loved every minute of it."

"Oh, yeah right!" Kyle said.

Wendyssa asked Mante'keya something in Darnassian and then translated her response: "She says, and I quote, 'I sure do, Headmistress! It's a lot of fun!'"

"Well, great," Kyle said sarcastically. "I don't actually care if she likes it or not. The fact of the matter is that _I_ don't like it, and I want you to change me— _us_ —back!"

Wendyssa looked at Kyle tiredly. "I think it's time you left."

"Wait a second," another female voice said in Common. It was Stan's. "Is there another way we could pay the debt? Maybe something that's actually a punishment, like a fine?" he asked Wendyssa.

Kyle was enraged to hear Stan imply that being transformed into a woman wasn't "actually" a punishment, but then it dawned on him that Stan was being crafty here.

Squinting, Wendyssa put a bloody finger to her mouth, which was disgusting. "Hmm."

To make sure she understood her end of the bargain, Kyle clarified, "So you'd make us both male again, and we'd pay you back some other way."

"Just name your price," Stan told her.

"Actually… There is one thing you could do," Wendyssa said.

"What?" Stan and Kyle asked in unison.

"Bring me the druid Aloren Highwing from the Dor'Danil Barrow Dens."

"Okay, no problem," Kyle said, to which Wendyssa raised a long blue eyebrow.

Frowning, she said, "I forget the word in your tongue. It is stealing, but of a person."

"Oh," Stan said. "Kidnapping."

"Yes!" she exclaimed, pointing a bloody finger at Stan. "I want you to kidnap him." She sounded excited about it.

"So if we kidnap this guy for you," Kyle began, "you'll definitely change us back?"

"I am a woman of my word. After all, I am letting you go now, am I not?" With that, she finally, finally dispelled the thorns. It was such a relief!

Then Stan asked her, "Do you actually know how to change us back?"

"Of course I do," Wendyssa said, sounding offended.

"We'll do it," Kyle told her. "We're doing it," he told Stan. He wasn't going to hear any objections on moral grounds, not when Stan had been female for all of ten minutes. Stan didn't say anything.

For the record, Kyle wasn't entirely convinced this was his ticket out of hell. He didn't trust Wendyssa. But it was something, a little tarnished ray of hope, and he didn't have much to lose.

Before they left, Wendyssa gave them a sleeping potion so Aloren Highwing would not wake up during transport; shackles to chain his wrists and ankles with; a physical description of the druid; instructions on how to get to the barrow dens; and the stern warning not to travel along the main road, least of all through Astranaar. Kyle asked her how exactly they were supposed to do that, and, exasperatedly, she ended up sketching them a map with a detour route. Still, Kyle couldn't help but fear it was going to be extremely conspicuous lugging a massive sleeping night elf man through Ashenvale.

As Wendyssa led them back out of the maze of crumbling passageways, Kyle asked her, "What do you want this guy for, anyway? I thought you didn't like men down here. Or at all."

"Oh, he won't be male for long," she said, yawning. "But to answer your question, I am interested in learning flight. Aloren Highwing is one Druid of the Talon who I am certain is sleeping in the Dor'Danil Dens."

So they'd be kidnapping this guy so he could share their fate. Kyle didn't feel good about that. But then, this was his last resort; he wouldn't be committing a crime if had a better option. It was a crime of necessity, like war. And maybe this guy wouldn't even care, like the white-haired one back there.

At the entrance, Wendyssa pressed a stone in the wall, opening the trapdoor. Daylight shone in, making them all squint. Kyle could now see a ladder on the wall leading up to the surface.

"Don't come back without him," Wendyssa warned them. "And you better cover the trap door with sand when you get up there! A _lot_ of sand, do you understand me?"

"Yeah, yeah," Kyle said, feeling like he was having a conversation with his mother about portal regulations or looking before you Blink.

Up on land, Kyle took in the sight of female Stan in full daylight: he looked the same in a lot of ways, the short black hair sticking out from the mail cowl, the tall stature, the blue eyes. But the bone structure was all wrong; he wasn't filling out that armor at all and generally seemed less imposing. Kyle could've cried if he weren't so drained.

Dryly, he asked Stan, "So, how is it?"

"Not great," Stan admitted.

"Wait 'til you start bleeding," Kyle said.

Stan's face paled. "When'll that happen?"

"Who knows? Could be tomorrow, could be three weeks from now."

Stan dragged a plate gauntlet down his face. "Maybe we'll get changed back by then."

Kyle frowned. He kind of wanted Stan to suffer through at least one period. No, he definitely did.

Sickened, he remembered all the times he told Stan he didn't know what it was like.

* * *

It seemed to take hours for them to row back to Auberdine. When they finally arrived, they immediately went to the inn to pass out and slept until late afternoon. Now, in the dimness of their room, Kyle dared to analyze Stan's naked body as he slept—the top half, at least. His breasts were exposed above the blankets, moving slightly as he breathed. They were significantly smaller than Kyle's.

Now, Kyle couldn't even look at Stan's naked body with desire, intertwined with bitterness though it had been these past seven months, nor could he look at him and trick himself into believing things were as they always had been. Now, the feminine alienness went both ways, denoting a reciprocal, simultaneous act of seeing oneself whilst seeing the other. Functionally, materially, this replicated how things had always been for them, but in a strange, soft, and shadowy way. So while they were the same again, it didn't matter, because this wasn't them; this was a false version of them, a weaker, distorted version.

It would be so much worse for Stan career-wise if they didn't get changed back. Sure, there were women warriors, high-ranking ones in the army even, but women could never be as physically strong as men, and physical strength was essential to a warrior, was it not? While Stan was skilled in other ways, being fast, perceptive, and with an impressive knowledge of anatomy, Cartman really only had strength on his side, which was absolutely enough to make him a good warrior, as much as that pained Kyle to admit.

Kyle woke Stan up. When Stan looked at his body, he did a double take. "Yep," Kyle said, being intimately familiar with that 'what the fuck' feeling.

Pinching the bridge of his nose, Stan said, "This is so messed up."

"Yep."

"There's something seriously wrong with that woman," Stan said, grimacing as he looked at his boobs.

"Oh, yeah, she's a nut—no argument there," Kyle said. "I mean, the whole reason she did this in the first place is because she has a stick up her ass about gay sex, which is not only psycho but stunningly hypocritical—there's a lot of fucking going on down in that school, I'm sure of it."

"What? Really?"

"Oh, absolutely. They're like regular night elves times like fifty in terms of the weird female fanaticism. It's totally sexual, too—you can tell," Kyle explained, having pieced all this together relatively recently.

Stan heaved out a massive sigh. "I think they just hate men period. So gay, straight, whatever, it doesn't matter to them; we're all just scum in their eyes," he said. "I wouldn't be surprised if a lot of female night elves felt that way. I mean, they control the government and army and everything, so why wouldn't they look down on men?"

"Yeah," Kyle said glumly, "you're probably right."

They did a few chores in Auberdine: Kyle retrieved his pin; Stan crafted a leather tunic and leggings, because his plate armor was now uncomfortably large; and Kyle sewed Stan a mageweave nightgown, for decency's sake, because sleeping naked wasn't okay anymore.

After all this crafting, it was well past midnight, and they ate again and showered. Now, sitting at the table in their room, they discussed logistics of the kidnapping by lantern light.

"It's going to be such a pain in the ass moving this guy," Kyle lamented, studying the map Wendyssa had drawn them. "The best thing I can think of is a wheelbarrow."

"Where are we gonna get a wheelbarrow?" Stan asked.

"I don't… know," Kyle replied lamely. He continued brainstorming: he could continuously recast Slow Fall on the druid to make him light as a feather; or they could wake him up and force him to walk; or maybe capture a bird and pretend it was him. But all these ideas fell flat: he didn't have an endless supply of Light Feathers; the druid could transform and escape; and Wendyssa wasn't stupid. Finally, he had a more feasible idea: "A sled might work."

"What's a sled?" Stan asked.

"How do you not know what a sled is?" Kyle asked, not sure whether to be disturbed or amused.

"I don't know? What is it?"

"It's a little wooden platform. You sit on it and ride down a hill in the snow."

"Oh, okay," Stan said. "We didn't have those. It never snowed much in Lordaeron."

"Well," Kyle began, "I don't think we're going to find a sled, either, but we could probably make one."

It took them two long, frustrating days to build the six foot long sled. Neither of them was familiar with carpentry, so there was a lot of trial and error and tears involved. Kyle spent most of the project drunk. He knew he wasn't being very helpful. It was just so upsetting spending so much gold on supplies for this stupid thing; it was upsetting thinking about how arduous and risky kidnapping this guy would be; it was upsetting seeing Stan sawing away with that skinny girl arm. Everything was upsetting and crappy and just plain _hard_ , and even though this might be the final push, Kyle sort of wanted to have his mom come in and fix everything for him. But he didn't actually want that. He was just tired.

The sled turned out pretty good though. While hardly beautiful, it was sturdy and glided easily. Stan seemed pretty proud of it.

Upon leaving Auberdine for Astranaar, Kyle refrained from giving the hippogryph master a fabricated explanation for why they were lugging around a giant sled. He had thought about it and decided leaving a string of lies in their path would only hurt them in the end. It was best to just not draw attention to the sled.

They arrived in Astranaar and immediately left for the Dor'Danil Barrow Dens. Doing their best to evade spiders and bears, they followed Wendyssa's detour route and traveled through the forest itself, south of the main road that cut across Ashenvale.

After they passed a furbolg village, they reached a trail heading north, up towards the main road. "This is wrong," Stan said.

Kyle, who was in charge of the map, said, "No, it's not. I told you we have to loop around, otherwise we're going to run right into the Silverwing Outpost."

"I meant about kidnapping this guy," Stan clarified.

Kyle stopped and stared at him, feeling like something in his brain just broke. His first impulse was to be sarcastic, but, hard as it was, he swallowed the bile down and said, honestly, "You know what, Stan? I really don't care. I've been in hell for seven months, so please, keep the moral universalism to yourself."

Stan didn't say anything to that, and Kyle bit his tongue so as not to say, _"Yeah, that's what I thought."_

Shortly thereafter, they arrived at the Dor'Danil Barrow Dens, where the night elven druids slept, working in the spiritual plane of the Emerald Dream. As they approached the little trunk-shaped cottage sitting atop hill, they noticed a Forsaken man at the entrance, apparently standing guard.

"Well isn't this just great," Kyle muttered hatefully as they spied on the guard from behind a massive tree root.

"I wonder if there are more of them in there," Stan said.

"Why are they even here?"

"I have no idea," Stan said. "But it can't be good."

Kyle grunted. How true it was that things only ever got worse! He wanted to groan, loudly, up into the canopy, making all the birds flee and creating a dramatic spectacle of his frustration. But instead, he redirected his anger into a practical albeit non-violent plan: "Fuck it. I'm gonna Polymorph him. Then we can walk past him and just play it by ear once we're inside."

So Kyle cast Invisibility on himself, which made him gradually fade and soon disappear. Then, as quietly as he could, he ran up and cast Polymorph on the guard, turning him into a fluffy white sheep and thereby also canceling Kyle's invisibility effect. He motioned for Stan to come. Thankfully, Stan read Kyle's mind and stowed the sled in a nearby bush—it would only get in the way should they encounter more guards. Then he and Kyle crept past the polymorphed guard and entered the earthy barrow dens.

With Kyle leading the way, they followed the single spiraling passage down to the first chamber, where another Forsaken guard stood in the middle of the bridge. Before she had a chance to react, Kyle cast Frost Nova to cement her in place, then Blinked away and chucked an instant Pyroblast at her, following that up with some Arcane Missiles. Stan attacked her from the front, blocking her poison-coated mace with his shield and then countering her attack, ultimately inflicting a successful Execute on the Forsaken rogue. Singed and defeated, she collapsed, her bony arm snapping off at the elbow when she hit the ground. It was unclear if she was actually dead (if the dead could even 'die'), but she was at least seriously incapacitated, and that was enough for Stan, who couldn't quite bring himself to, say, crush the skull of someone who could've once been an acquaintance from another town.

They took her mace and dagger though, just in case.

According to Wendyssa, Aloren Highwing was sleeping in a room in either the second or third chamber, meaning they would have to check all the rooms in both chambers to find the green-haired druid with the distinctive dwarf-like braided beard. _"It looks extremely stupid,"_ Wendyssa had said. Glumly, Kyle remembered Stan's beard.

The second chamber appeared to be empty. Kyle quickly cast Invisibility on himself again, and they went through the chamber slowly, hoping to draw out any prowling rogues. As they rounded the bend to the lower level, Kyle heard a loud thud to his right and saw that Stan had been sapped, rendered incapacitated by a still-invisible rogue. Knowing that only highly proficient subtlety rogues could maintain stealth after sapping, Kyle bravely cast Arcane Explosion over and over in the vicinity, hoping the blasts of violet arcane magic would damage the skilled rogue and force him out of stealth.

On his fifth or sixth cast, Kyle heard a ghastly growl, and then a Forsaken in black leathers was suddenly lunging toward him, his daggers ready to strike Kyle, sinisterly. But just in the nick of time, Stan used the force of his whole body to slam the rogue into the wall, catching him totally off guard. Bones crunched. The Forsaken groaned, maybe with more annoyance than agony.

Kyle hurled some Fireballs down at him, and then they took his daggers, too. They proceeded to the next chamber, where they would begin their search and then work backwards.

In the third and final chamber, there was a strange scene: an undead woman in aquamarine robes sat on a bench in the center platform of the bridge, tranquilly taking notes in a notebook. Her mouth and nose were covered with a white scarf. When she saw them, she jerked back and fumbled for her staff, knocking some things off the bench in the process, one of which shattered on the floor. Hissing, she said, "Who are you? How did you get past the guards?"

Stan was about to charge her, but Kyle put an arm in front of him and told him to wait. "Misene? Is that you?" Kyle asked the Forsaken woman.

Her glowing yellow eyes changed, the defensive aggression morphing into scrutiny. "I remember you. The girl in the seashell," she eventually said to Kyle. "But why are you here? You shouldn't be here. You have to leave. Now."

"No, we just—please, Misene! Here me out!" Kyle begged, not wanting to have to fight her. "I found out who did this to me! It was a druid, this crazy female druid, and she'll only change me back if I bring her another druid, this guy named Aloren Highwing, who's supposed to be sleeping in here."

Misene looked at them for a while without saying anything. Then, pointing towards Stan with her staff, she asked, "Is that your boyfriend?"

"Yeah. She changed him, too," Kyle said miserably, looking at Stan and almost getting emotional about it, because gods, this was his _boy_ friend, wasn't it, this beardless person with tits.

"So let me get this straight," Misene said, "you found out who did this to you, and for her to change you back, you have to kidnap another druid for her?" She sounded skeptical, to say the least.

"She has a school, an underground school on the strand," Kyle explained, getting desperate and panicky. "She wants to convert him into a woman and make him teach her flight. She's already converted another druid there—I think she uses them as teachers." Then, begging, he said, "Please, Misene, you have to believe me. I can't live like this anymore. I've tried everything, seen every healer—don't you remember how you couldn't Dispel Magic off of me? I just want to go back to normal. This is my only hope."

Finally, Misene said, "Alright. I believe you."

"So will you help us? Please?" Kyle asked.

"Sure, fine." Shaking her head, she said, "What's another good deed to sully my reputation?"

"Oh, thank you, thank you!" Kyle exclaimed. He would've thrown his arms around her if she weren't dead.

With her bony fingers, Misene began picking up the things that dropped on the floor: glass shards, a bottle of ink, some ruined papers. "Say what you will about us Forsaken," she began, "but I empathize with you." Then, looking Kyle in the eye, she said, "There's no going back for me though."

This really struck Kyle. Though he had woken up female, at least he was still alive. How horrible it must be to regain consciousness and realize you're a walking corpse. Kyle couldn't even imagine. He felt so sorry for her.

Then Misene said, "I'm guessing you took out my guards."

"Uh, yeah, we did. Sorry about that," Kyle said.

"I figured as much," she said. "Good thing I always have extra thread on hand…"

"Oh, yeah," Kyle began, "we took their weapons, if you want them back." Carefully so as not to touch the poison, he gave her the mace and three daggers, which she thanked them for.

"Anyway," Misene began, "what does the guy you're after look like?"

They gave her a description of Aloren Highwing, and she led them to the room in the lower level of the chamber. "This one's pretty twitchy, more so than the others," she told them as she opened the double doors. On the floor of the tiny room, Aloren Highwing lay on his side, twitching occasionally. He wore a leather kilt, and his naked chest was muscley and slightly sweaty, the picture of masculinity, which made Kyle irritated, guilty, and kind of turned on.

So this was it: they were really kidnapping this guy, huh?

Misene asked them, "How do you plan on getting him to the strand?"

"We have a sled outside," Kyle said, "and, uh, these." He took the two sets of shackles from his bag and just held them for a minute. Then he handed them to Stan and said, "Can you do this?"

"Uh. Okay," Stan said, plainly uncomfortable about it as he took the shackles and locked them around the druid's wrists and ankles.

Then Misene cast Levitate on the druid, which allowed them to easily push him along out of the chamber.

The second chamber was empty—the guard they had taken out was gone. "Get out of here, quick," Misene advised them. "And don't go by our camp to the west—that's where my guards probably went."

"Alright," Kyle said. "Thank you, Misene. You've helped me twice now. Thank you."

"Good luck, Kyle," she said, and then she went back to the third chamber.

They made it out of the barrow dens with the sleeping and shackled Aloren Highwing. Thankfully, the sun had set, and under the forest's violet dimness, they brought the druid down the lamppost lined pathway, soon reaching the bush where Stan had stashed the sled. They tied the druid down to the sled with some rope, then began the journey back to the strand, both of them lugging the sled by the attached cords. The druid was still twitching and moaning a little, and while he wasn't terribly loud, Kyle wished he would just shut up.

The most nerve-wracking part of the trip was crossing the main road in order to loop back around the Silverwing Outpost. Kyle felt like his heart was going to explode; he was petrified they'd run into a patrolling Sentinel. What would they do then? He didn't want to think he'd immediately turn himself in and beg for mercy, but he also didn't want to have to fight a Sentinel. Running away was a possibility, but he could get away faster than Stan by Blinking, and he couldn't leave him behind.

Luckily, however, they made it back into the woods without encountering anyone on the road.

Then, after passing the village of snoring furbolgs, they suddenly heard a loud gasp from the druid. Turning around, Kyle saw the druid's yellow eyes glowing in the darkness. "Oh shit," Kyle said, his blood running cold, "we forgot to give him the sleep potion."

"Fuck," Stan said.

The druid was breathing hard and looking around frantically. Then, the fear palpable in his voice, he asked, "Is this Azeroth?"

Kyle immediately began digging through his bag for the damn sleep potion; Stan told the druid that yes, this was Azeroth.

"Oh, thank Elune!" the druid cried out, nearly sobbing. "Thank Cenarius!" Then after he calmed down a bit, he said, "But wait. Who are you? And why am I not in the barrow dens?"

"Well, we're uh—" Stan began before being interrupted by Kyle growling that he couldn't find the potion.

The druid then transformed into a black raven, thus freeing himself from the ropes and shackles. Then he transformed back into an elf.

"Regardless," the druid said, putting his hands on Stan and Kyle's shoulders, "somehow you managed to wake me—I had been unable to return to my body. The Emerald Dream has become afflicted, tainted by the Nightmare, and many druids are still trapped inside." Then, bowing, Aloren said, "I am indebted to you. Please, tell me your names."

"Er, I'm Stan and this is Kyle."

Kyle flung his backpack down on the ground. He wasn't paying attention to the stupid conversation; all he knew was that this noisy druid was now awake and free, all because they'd stupidly forgotten to give him the sleep potion, the most important thing, which Kyle may have actually lost. Gods, it was so, so true: things only ever got worse, and now he was going to be stuck this way forever, bleeding out his crotch every month for the rest of his life. He crumpled to the ground and started crying. It was over now; suicide was the only option. He rocked back and forth, sobbing in his stupid girly voice. At one point, Stan, who was still talking to the druid, came down and put his arm around him.

"Kyle," Stan said softly, "he says he might be able to help us."

"Yeah, right," Kyle sniffed.

"I happen to be familiar with the spell that was cast on you," Aloren explained. "It is a mixture of nature and arcane magics, like the spells of moonkin druids. It is a very old, very powerful transformation spell known as _Duna nor dora._ Rumor was that Queen Azshara developed it." He went on: "Few today have heard of it, and I doubt there are many others who know how to cast it. Do you recall the name of the woman who transformed you?"

"Wendyssa," Kyle said, then Stan added, "Shadowmoon, I think her last name was."

Aloren furrowed his brow but then shook his head. "No, not ringing any bells. You say she has an underground school in the ruins of Zoram?"

"Yes, she does," Kyle said quickly, "but hold on—did you say you know how to cast this spell?"

"I cast the sun version once, centuries ago," Aloren said. "My younger sister always wanted to be a druid. We spent decades researching this long-forgotten spell, piecing together bits of scattered information. When we finally knew enough to try it, we were overjoyed that it worked: my sister became my brother and was able to join me in the study of druidism." Pained, he added, "He is still trapped in the Nightmare."

"I'm sorry," Stan said.

More pertinently, Kyle asked, "So you could cast the spell on us? And it'll turn us back into boys?"

"I could try, yes," Aloren said. "My one concern is that you have already been transformed by the moon version of the spell."

"So, what are you saying? That it won't work?" Kyle questioned him.

"No, it should work," Aloren said. "I am simply saying I have only ever cast this spell once on a natal female, not someone already transformed by the spell."

"Well, does that matter?" Kyle inquired.

"I do not think so."

"Okay, then cast it on us," Kyle demanded.

But of course the spell needed regents. Thankfully, however, two of them could be collected here in Ashenvale: Seeds of Cenarius from pine cones and Malorne's Prosperity, a tree sap collected from pine trees past a certain age. The final regent, Sungrass, would have to be purchased from the Auction House in Darnassus, for it only grew in the Thousand Needles and Eastern Plaguelands.

Kyle mostly trusted Aloren, although he was still a little suspicious. Even despite Aloren's relief at being woken up, it seemed strange he would agree to help them when they had been trying to kidnap him. Stan had actually spelled that out to him. Aloren had laughed. "Desperate times call for desperate measures," he had said. This attitude was incomprehensible to Kyle, all the more so because it was evidently sincere: as they went about the forest collecting regents for the spell, Aloren treated them like old friends. The means justified the ends, apparently.

Aloren told them he would bring up Wendyssa's school to Archdruid Fandral Staghelm when he went to speak with him about the Emerald Nightmare. Kyle didn't want any of this to come back and bite him in the ass though—a kidnapping attempt looked bad, no matter how gracious the victim—so he requested that Aloren preserve their anonymity, which he agreed to. And Kyle believed him.

After collecting the pine cones and sap, the three of them took the flight path to Darnassus, watching dawn break over the sea as they flew north to the new World Tree. Stan and Kyle were beyond exhausted and went to the inn to pass out. Aloren said he was going to try to speak with Staghelm today and would stop by the inn that afternoon to perform the spell.

When they woke up, Kyle went to the Auction House to buy the Sungrass, and Stan stayed at the inn in case Aloren showed up. The druid was there when Kyle returned, now armed with a wooden staff that had an orange orb encased in an ornate, antler-like cage.

"Ishnu-alah, Kyle," Aloren greeted him smoothly. "Were you able to purchase the Sungrass?"

"Yep," Kyle said, producing the blades of yellow-green grass from his backpack. He placed them on the bureau by the door, along with the pine cones and vials of sap. Now all they had to do was extract the Seeds of Cenarius from the pine cones, which Aloren showed them how to do. Then the spell was finally ready to be performed. Aloren had Stan and Kyle stand side by side at the foot of the bed, then he opened one of the vials of sap and smothered his hands in Malorne's sticky Prosperity. Then in one hand, he took a blade of Sungrass, and in the other, a handful of Seeds of Cenarius. "So, who first?" he asked them.

"Me," Kyle said.

So Aloren began casting the spell on Kyle, murmuring some words in Darnassian. There was a _shwoosh_ sound as Kyle was encapsulated by bright white clouds. When the clouds dissipated, Kyle looked down at his body: the boobs were gone! He reached up under his robes: his dick was back! "Oh gods!" he cried out in relief, his voice deeper. "Oh gods!" His hand still around his dick, he ran to look in the mirror and saw his real face. "It worked!" he said, feeling the traces of stubble on his face. "It really worked!"

Next, Aloren cast the spell on Stan, and it worked again: after the clouds dissipated, Stan was male again, the leather tunic and leggings now so impossibly tight that they had to be cut off with Stan's skinning knife. When Kyle saw Stan's dick, thick and substantial as ever, he wanted to get down on his knees and put it in his mouth, right then and there.

"By the Light, Aloren," a totally nude Stan said in his masculine voice, "how can we ever thank you?"

"No need to thank me, soldiers," he said. "You saved me, and I am overjoyed I was able to return the favor."

"You really did save us," Kyle told him. "I don't know what we would've done without you."

Aloren laughed and said the feeling was mutual.

They exchanged addresses and said they would keep in touch.

Then Aloren left, saying he had to go find Fandral Staghelm in Moonglade.

"We can go home now," Kyle said to Stan, feeling very emotional. He really wanted to have sex, but not here, not in this crummy inn in Darnassus.

"Yeah," Stan said, and then he hugged him. Kyle sunk into his arms, holding onto him tight and drinking in the material reality of Stan's body, the way it fit with his own. It felt normal, comfortable, _correct_ , and Kyle felt himself tearing up thinking that he might've gone his whole life without getting this back, would've in fact died from not having it. Sniffing, he said, "I'm so glad. So, so glad."

Stan petted his head and said, "Me too. You really suffered."

"I did; I really did," Kyle moaned, rubbing his face up against Stan's hairy chest.

Once Kyle composed himself a little, he had a glass of water while Stan got his plate armor back on. This was another pleasant sight to behold, and Kyle eagerly fished through his backpack for a Rune of Portals so he could create a portal to Stormwind. The energy between them was buzzing, jubilant, and Kyle practically skipped down from Mage Tower, so ready to get to his apartment.

Kyle lived above Larson Clothiers, in a lovely two bedroom apartment packed with bookshelves upon bookshelves full of spellbooks, all of which were relatively new, purchased within the last few years to replace all the books they had lost in Dalaran.

They went to Kyle's bedroom, where Stan began removing his armor, and Kyle shut the violet blinds, the golden afternoon sunlight filtering through the fabric and bathing the room in cozy magenta. Still clothed, Kyle sat demurely on the edge of his bed, feeling weirdly nervous as he eyed Stan disrobing. It had been seven long months since they'd had sex, and Kyle hadn't even interacted with Stan's dick in about five months, but that was a different story.

Once free of his plate armor, Stan came over to Kyle, cupped his cheek, and kissed him. Kyle's head spun, flickering with the excitement he felt when Stan first kissed him almost two years ago. But this time, it was something he knew: he knew Stan's mouth, Stan's tongue, and that Stan kissed him in the ways he liked to be kissed: softly, sweetly at first, gradually building up; or quickly, desperately, full of want and urgency; or like now, less to do with pace and more with deliberateness, sincerity, and maybe love. It felt like love.

"You wanna wear these?" Stan asked him, touching the hem of Kyle's robes.

"No." Kyle sat up, and Stan helped him pull the green robes over his head. Then Kyle lay back on his bed, practically delirious with pleasure when Stan followed suit, laying on top of him, their dicks hard and grazing each other, the little touches making Kyle's hips jerk.

Stan took Kyle's dick in his hand as one would handle the Eye of Dalaran: consciously, carefully, and with intent. He groaned as he gave his cock a few jerks, saying, "Fuck, I missed this."

"Don't make me come this way," Kyle begged.

"Okay, okay," Stan said, letting go of Kyle's cock, which was now leaking a little. He stuck his arm down between the mattress and the wall and dug around for the lube. He wasn't able to find it, however, and had to get up to look for it under the bed. Kyle, meanwhile, laid there with his hands on his chest, panting, throbbing, staring at the ceiling.

"Oh, there it is," Stan said from under the bed. Bottle in hand, he came back up and kissed Kyle again before dumping lube on his fingers and dipping them down between Kyle's legs, gliding over his perineum down to his hole.

Stan touched him on the outside for a moment before edging a slick fingertip in, like he was remembering how to do this, or maybe he was just being cautious. Kyle closed his eyes and tried to breathe, wishing he had a drink in him—contradictorily, he was sort of on edge. He didn't care to pinpoint the reasons, though.

Stan's fingertips grazed Kyle's prostate and then genteelly moved across it, making him gasp. That was back, too, thank gods. Stan kept rubbing it, sighing as he did so as if he were touching himself, and while Kyle was still set on the idea of not coming until Stan was inside him, it felt so good he couldn't bring himself to say anything, instead grinding on Stan's fingers and trying, without much success, to rub his cock against Stan's abs. Then Stan stopped and took his fingers out, leaving Kyle feeling like he'd been flung into the Great Dark Beyond, hanging weightlessly in its vastness, his body longing, lurching for a solid anchor, a planet, a star, a sun, a moon. A body. "Ready?" Stan asked him, and Kyle said yes, the sort of yes that was more than yes: an absolutely, an always, a wax seal on a sealed envelope: a little formality to signify a known, to make it realer, weightier, more.

But there was nothing, nothing like the consequence of that little word, nothing like having Stan inside him. Kyle didn't know how he had survived seven months without this. It was honestly heartbreaking. "I missed you," Kyle said, nearly choking on the weight of these words. He breathed Stan's "me too" into his lungs, believing it fully, his heart cracking a little for it: those sick and neutered days were just barely behind them, still close enough to nip at Kyle's heels with guilt.

Stan had to love him.

Kyle wrapped his arms around Stan's neck, shuddering, sobbing throughout it, everything in the universe depending on the next thrust, on Stan, on this, on now. He was so close, nearly there, and so he grabbed his cock, frantically jerking himself off before coming long and hard, arching and groaning as he did so, clenching around Stan. He rode it out all the way to the end and well past that, his hand still wrapped around himself and moving weakly even after Stan came, his hips jerking haphazardly as he emptied himself into Kyle, something Kyle cherished deeply.

Panting, Stan dropped down onto Kyle and wrapped his arms around his back, still inside him. "I'm so glad," he said, his voice faltering under the pull of sentiment. "I'm so, so glad."

Kyle believed it, finally and fully, all those conniving little doubts squashed by the rediscovered truth that Stan wanted him in this body, this body that mirrored Stan's own, the one Kyle was born in, the one that felt right, the only one Kyle wanted Stan in.

It was rare, and it was perfect.


End file.
